Fire and Ice
by RavenCurls
Summary: Fiyero was just a simple blacksmith until she came along. Inspired by GoT. Definitely AU. High T for mentioned violence and adult topics. Slight fluff. One-shot.


**AN** **For those who like both Wicked and GoT. This is one strange plot bunny that refuses to go away.**

 _The era of the reign of the Wonderful Wizard of Oz started innocently enough. It began when a stranger appeared in the high society of Gillikin. His name was Oscar, and he claimed that he came from a land far, far away, so far that the land ended and the sea began. Sometimes, he would be seen with a woman who seemed to favour red. The Gillikinese were not impressed with the woman, but they were charmed by the man, for he seemed to understand their problems and was eager to help. He told them that he understood their dissatisfaction with the latest Ozma and her family. The royal family of Oz had turned down the their request to move into Quadling to dig for rubies and into Vinkus for her natural resources. Oscar promised that he would help them, so long as they helped him. With their money, Oscar and the woman went to Munchkinland and secured a meeting with the Eminent of Munchkinland. It was said that the Eminent had an heart attack during the meeting, and decreed before he died that the man called Oscar would be his heir. The moment Oscar took over, he announced that a road should be built, linking Munchkinland to the Emerald City and beyond. Two months later, while the Munchkinlanders were still reeling from the regime change, a group of masked men entered the Vinkun stronghold called Kiamo Ko in the middle of the night, aided by the new moon. The Vinkun King was slain in his bed, together with his whole family. The castle was looted, and the front gate barred before the whole place was set on fire, trapping all the staff that were inside. No one claimed responsibility for the attack, but there were rumours that a woman was seen in the Red Windmill on the day of the attack, a woman surrounded by a group of mercenaries and who did not speak, a woman with a ruby at her throat which seemed to pulsate an evil red . The news of the assassination soon reached the Emerald City. The Vinkus, while not as prosperous as Gillikin, had always been a friend of Ozma and her family. The royal family knew that it would be their turn next. They tried to fled, but they realised that it was a futile attempt when the guards who were supposed to protect them brought them to Oscar instead; their most royal subjects had betrayed them for the promises of wealth and riches. In everyone's presence, Oscar grabbed the Ozma princess from her nanny, and killed her on the spot. His soldiers slaughtered the remaining members, and the Ozma family was no more. The man then took the throne and declared that henceforth, he would no longer be known as Oscar, but should be addressed as the Wonderful Wizard of Oz, for his power was all powerful and beyond comprehension. Those who supported him would be well rewarded, while those who opposed him would die. The woman in red sat at his right side, not as his minister, not as his consort, but as his co-ruler, his Red Witch._

He first saw her at the break of dawn.

He had been up for some time, stoking the fire to make sure that the forge was the right temperature before he started work; he knew from experience how the wrong temperature could ruin weeks of effort. He had an order to fulfil, two dozen horseshoes for a rich merchant (in this area, you were considered rich if you owned a few horses or houses) two towns away. He might be the best blacksmith in the region, but competition was always stiff, and Fiyero did not intend to deliver his goods late or deliver anything sub-quality; he had a reputation to upkeep.

The rain had stopped earlier, and the place was quiet save for the crackle of his fire. His place was located at the edge of the town, away from the rest of the houses and shops, a deliberate decision made by his grandfather who wanted the flexibility to work at odd hours or through the night without disturbing his neighbours. And thus he was alerted of their arrival when the sounds of hooves on the muddy path reached his ears.

He noticed the horse first, the most beautiful (and later, he realised, the most temperamental) white horse he had ever seen. It was taller and larger than most horses, its white mane flowing down its neck, curling at the ends like silk tassels. Its head was low, as if the animal was tired after travelling for a long distance without resting, but there was something graceful and majestic about the way it moved, the way its muscles rippled under the skin, like a stream flowing over rocks. A fine horse, no doubt bred for the bravest knight and trained for the fiercest battle. He noticed that the back of the horse was bare - there was no sign of a saddle or a bridle - a horse that could not be tamed.

The horse nickered, and that was followed by a low chuckle, and it was only then that Fiyero realised that the horse was not alone.

Its companion was tall, almost as tall as Fiyero, but narrow across the shoulders. He wore a hooded cloak, one that used to be black, but had now faded into a colour that was more ash than grey. The hood was pulled up, hiding the man's features, but Fiyero was aware of the straight back, the arrogant gait.

The clouds were low, but behind the travellers, in the east, the horizon was tinted with a fiery red by the rising sun, almost like fire burning in the distance, as if the duo had set the path ablaze just by passing by.

Fiyero noticed that there was something else under the cloak as the stranger moved, on the left hip, and he frowned. Common folks did not carry a weapon in this area. A weapon could mean many things, from a bandit to a mercenary to one of the Wizard's men, none of them good news. He looked around for something that he could use. His eyes landed on his hammer that he had laid out on his anvil earlier on and he reached for it. He did not like to be robbed so early in the morning (or any time of the day, for that matter).

Fiyero watched warily as the two stopped under the shelter of his workshop, the horse shaking its head like a dog trying to get itself dry.

"Can I help you?" he asked politely.

The man turned at his voice.

"We need new horseshoes. Today." The voice was low and gruff, but Fiyero had a good ear, and it sounded odd to him.

He gave an easy smile, shifting his grip on his anvil.

"I'm sorry, but I have some orders to complete today. I can only do yours tomorrow," he said.

"Where's the next blacksmith?"

"Next town, half a day's ride away. But you can forget about it. Old Peet is not around. He's now three towns away, attending the wedding of his daughter. She's marrying the next-next nearest blacksmith." He gestured with his free hand.

He heard a soft mutter under the breath.

"Fine. Tomorrow then."

He named his price. "I'm sorry, but I don't start work without payment. Trust issues," he told the stranger.

Another mutter, and a gloved hand dipped into a pouch that was hidden from sight. The traveller threw a few coins on the table, double of what Fiyero asked for. He relaxed his grip on his weapon. Someone with that much money to throw around would not need to rob a poor man like him.

He led the way to a stall at the side of his shop. Much of his business had to do with animals and he had an area next to this shop where he could inspect the animals and where they could rest. He took a large cloth and wiped the poor animal dry, taking his time as he admired the majestic beast. When that was done, he pulled up a stool and inspected the horseshoes. A quick check told him that one of the horseshoes had broken off, and another showing faint lines of cracks.

"Shoddy work," he commented as he removed the horseshoes. "Hope you didn't pay much for them."

There was no reply. He was fine with that.

When he was done taking the measurements, Fiyero took a carrot from a bucket hanging from the wall. The horse had been cooperative, and there was nothing like a reward to ensure its continuous good behaviour. He was about to give it to the horse when the vegetable was snatched away from him.

"No, Malky."

The horse made a sound of displeasure, and snapped his teeth at its owner. The latter took a sudden step backward, and the sudden movement pushed off the hood, revealing her face.

She was much younger than he expected.

"You look like a fool when you drop your jaw like this," she commented, her hands reaching for the hem of the hood to pull it up again. Her voice was still low and gruff, but there was that slight feminine undertone that was hidden previously. She changed her mind at the last moment and dropped her hands. Her eyes were brown, with a hint of amusement.

"What's a girl doing travelling on her own? Running from an arranged marriage?" He could not help but take a glance at her, taking in the menswear that she wore, her small waist, the way her breeches clung to her legs. She might have chosen this clothing to draw attention away from her, but it had just the opposite effect. She noticed his appreciative glance.

"Would I tell you if I am?" She asked when she was done looking him from top to bottom with a critical eye, taking her own sweet time.

"No." He tried to fight the blush that was creeping up his face. He was used to women eyeing him, Oz, she was not even doing it right, but there was something about her inspection that turned him into a shy fourteen year-old. "But I really don't like the idea of a horde of your fiancé's relatives running down the road and accusing me of seducing you."

She threw her head back and laughed. "You think too highly of yourself...errmmm…"

"Fiyero," he offered.

She raised her eyebrows.

"It's Vinkun. It means fiery, of the fire. I was born next to the furnace," he explained.

"So you're not running from an arranged marriage," he asked again after a while. She laughed again, but said nothing.

Fiyero moved back to the forge. He could have ask her to leave, give her directions to the only inn in town, but he did not. There was something about her, perhaps the frank way she looked at him, perhaps the way she left her face unveiled, that told him that she would not stab him behind his back. If there was such a thing as trust-as-first-sight, this could be it. He turned his back to her, and started to work. Behind him, he heard her drag a chair nearer to him and sat down at the corner of his eyes. She sat with her legs opened and stretched, like a man, and Fiyero had to restrain himself from looking at her legs. For Oz's sake, did she not know that she was in the same room as a testosterone -filled young man?

"This is good," she sighed after a while, a lazy smile on her lips.

"What is good?"

"This," the shadow of a hand waved at the furnace. "It's been a long time since I've been so warm."

She looked at his disbelieving look. "I've been on the road for a while."

"Running from an abusive stepfather?" He made another guess.

She chuckled. "What makes you think that I am running away from something? I never run away from anything. I'm looking for something." She did not elaborate.

"Running or searching, it's not safe for a lady to travel alone." Oz, he sounded as someone's grandaunt.

"I can take care of myself."

"That's what all the young, pretty girls say until it's too late. Bandits don't just rob, you know." He tried to focus on his work, but he found himself pausing, waiting for her answer.

She chuckled again. "You're such a gentleman. I have not met one for a long time."

"It's not safe for anyone anymore," he found himself saying. "The bandits are roaming the roads, robbing anyone who is not protected, and the Wizard and his men are not doing anything at all."

She pushed back her cloak at her hip, revealing the weapon. He doubted that she knew how to use it. His eyes stayed on the curve of her hips instead.

"That will attract the wrong kind of attention," he commented.

"Don't worry, I can deflect _all_ kinds of attention." He cast a glance at the girl and did not say anything anymore, but said a little prayer for her. Stubborn as she was, he did not want her to be found a few days later by the roadside, her throat cut, her body mutilated.

"You sound like you don't like the Wizard," she asked after a while.

"Who does? Things were bad enough during the Ozma's reign, and then it got worse. It could have been better. He's a wizard, for Oz's sake." He hammered at the red hot metal a few times. "When I was younger, I ran away from home once. I heard that there were some resistance members in town, and I wanted to join them," he smiled at the memory.

"What happened?"

"My grandfather hauled me back. By the ear, no less. And across town."

"So you gave up?" She raised an eyebrow.

He shook his head as he continued with his work.

"My grandfather fell sick soon after and I had to take care of him. He never recovers, just got slightly worse after every winter. He passed away last winter, just before spring, but I guess I've been so busy I never thought of it again. Or maybe I'll join the next resistance gang that comes along."

He worked in silence for a while.

"I want to do something worthwhile while I am still young," he confessed.

"I bet you can't hold a sword."

"I can learn. If I really can't, I still can volunteer my service. I can do swords, chain mails, not just horseshoes. And I'm a fast learner."

"Fighting against the Wizard is not as glamorous as everyone thinks. You're always hiding. You're always on the run. The lucky ones ride for weeks on their horses and get sores on their asses. The unlucky ones die on their battle or even before that. People whom you think are your friends turn you in just for a piece of gold."

"I'm not afraid."

"That's what every single of them says until they find their guts spilling onto their hands or they lose their limbs to the rack."

"You sound as if you have seen all these."

"What makes you think I haven't?" There was something in her voice, a kind of bitterness that was not there earlier, and he looked at her. The girl was still there, but she was no longer the same girl that he had seen moments earlier. The features were still there, but her skin…

He dropped his jaw for the second time that day.

The Green Witch, sweet Oz. There had been wanted posters for the news or arrest of a person with a green face. And there had been stories, stories about a girl leading a small army and ambushing the Wizard's men when they escorted prisoners from one place to another, stories of a girl who rescued a group of villagers who got lost in the forest and healed one of them with her bare hands, stories of a girl and her men who stopped a group of bandits from burning a village to the ground. He should have known it when he saw the horse. The stories said that the Green Witch rode a most majestic white horse, one which was one with its owner on the battlefield, a horse which was so graceful it looked like it was dancing when it was on the battlefield. It was the only horse with a price on its head. There were even some rumours that said that it was not just a horse, but a Horse. An Animal with spirit.

He casted Malky a quick glance. It flicked its ears innocently and tried to make a show of chewing the carrot in its mouth. No, not it. He.

"So do I have to silence you?" she asked innocently, her hand resting on the pommel of her sword.

He shook his head.

She turned to the horse.

"Can I trust him, Malk?" The Horse neighed.

"Good." She laughed as she stood up. "I'm going somewhere for a bed and a drink, and it is kind of hard to get a drink when everyone is trying to lop off your head."

"The Wizard doubles the reward for you again, you know." He finally found his tongue again.

She laughed, mirth in her eyes. "He does that all the time. I'm not afraid."

She turned to leave. "Come on, Malk."

The Horse whinnied to get her attention.

She turned back, her eyebrows raised when she noticed that the Horse was not moving.

"You want to stay with him?" And when there was no response, she turned to him, "he wants to stay with you…eh…Fieryo" She twirled her finger around.

"Fiyero," he corrected her.

"Fieryo," she struggled. "Oh well." She shrugged with slight embarrassment. "I'm never good with names."

* * *

Fae sat in a corner, nursing a drink. She had been on the road for three weeks, pushing Malky hard so that they could cover more grounds every day. She had spent the whole day sleeping in her room upstairs, and only made her way downstairs when the noise below was loud enough to make her climb out of the bed. She had a simple meal, nothing fanciful and then ordered a beer. Her hood was still up, hiding her gender and identity, but she knew that no one would bother her so long as she kept to herself. Folks in small towns like these usually did not go all out to seek trouble. And an inn was a good place to catch up on the latest gossips and there was no better time to do so than when the men had a few drinks that loosen their tongues.

The place was almost full during dinner, but most of them had left after that. A few, however, gathered at a table as one of them talked about his recent trip to the Emerald City.

"I saw her there. She was dressed in this red dress, and there was so much rouge on her face and she had this red poofy hair. And of course that red ruby stone. I was standing so far away, but I could see the damn thing glowing even from where I was. He has just conferred another title on her, Grand Vizier. Ha! Of course we all know that it is just a formality – she has been his advisor for so long now."

"Advisor and teacher and mistress. Come on, everyone knows that she has bewitched him," one of the men sniggered. "Body, mind and soul." The men guffawed at the joke.

"I don't understand why he wants her when he can have any woman. He's the Wizard! She's old and fat and hideous!"

"Well, all women look the same when the lights are out. And who knows, she may know some tricks that the younger women don't." Another round of laughter erupted as the Green Witch took another sip of her beer. Oz, this was a waste of time. But she had been told to follow the sun for two moons, to search for something. And she knew that the old woman's words could not be ignored. She did wish that she could be more explicit in her instructions though.

"Well, for all you know, she can cast a spell and turn into a vixen with curves," another man suggested, his hands forming the shape of a curvaceous body.

"Make that two vixens," someone else suggested.

"Oh, that's not possible. Even spells have a limit of what they can do. All witches are all old and ugly. It's a fact. Just like how the sun always rises in the east."

"Red, green or blue, they are all ugly. The Green Witch is luckier though."

"Luckier?"

"Yeah. Don't you see? The Red Witch has endless wealth and power, but she has to service the Wizard." Another round of the laughter, and a slap on the back. "The Green Witch? She has none of the riches, but she got all the young men fighting for her and keeping her bed warm at night. I bet the Red Witch is greennnnnn with jealousy."

Fae nearly choke on the beer.

"Are you sure? We all know they fight for her because of all the promises of wealth, but to sleep with her? Why would anyone want to sleep with that green snake? Her skin will most probably shed all over him. I bet any man's manhood will wilt at the sight of her naked body."

"Have you seen her?"

"No. But I heard that she has scales all over and three eyes."

She wanted to cover her ears with her hands. But there was no stopping once the men started.

"I don't think any man will want to kiss her, let alone take her."

"Most probably she has to satisfy herself, or maybe use a candle."

"Kidnap young male virgins from the villages. She's like a husk inside. I bet they all die after that. Most probably she sucks their essence. I heard that she is four hundred years old and looks five hundred."

One of them dropped to a whisper, but still it was loud enough for her to hear. "I heard that she is both male and female, so does that mean she can …" he simulated an act, and the rest of the men burst into laughter. One of them fell off the bench.

She had enough.

* * *

Fiyero managed to complete his work early and drop by the inn for dinner. He rarely entered by the front door, choosing instead to go to the kitchen where he was more welcomed. Kitchen was where the food was, and kitchen was where Jeni was. Jeni with the loud laughter and the twinkle in her eyes. Jeni with her curves and her generous heart. Jeni was the first woman that he had, and Jeni was the one who taught him how to please a woman. They had both moved on since then, Jeni got married to the owner of the inn while he, well, he was never a one-woman man. And even though it had been almost ten years, he still thought that Jeni was the most beautiful woman in the whole town.

He had a good time in the kitchen. There was a new kitchen maid, someone from another town, and the woman flirted outrageously with him, leaning close to him when she brought the food and offering to feed him. Jeni only smiled, and warned her that he would break her heart, like what had happened to so many other girls. The woman ignored Jeni of course. They always thought that they would be _the one_.

Someone shouted for more beer from next door, and Jeni willingly obliged, pushing the door open with her back as her hands held the mugs. The door swung on its hinges, and the conversation from the next door drifted into the kitchen.

"I don't think any man will want to kiss her, let alone take her."

"Most probably she has to satisfy herself, or maybe use a candle."

"Kidnap young male virgins from the villages. She's like a husk inside. I bet they all die after that. Most probably she sucks their essence. I heard that she is four hundred years old and looks five hundred."

"I heard that she is both male and female, so does that mean she can …" the men burst into laughter.

The men dropped to a whisper, and Fiyero was unable to hear anything. He leaned towards the door and that was when he saw a cloaked figure stomped out of the tavern, unnoticed by anyone. Fiyero excused himself from the girl who was trying to get him to lick sauce off her finger.

He exited by the kitchen door. The back alley was dark. He turned to the right and was trying to see into the darkness when the sound of tumbling firewood from behind him stopped him in his tracks. That, and a familiar curse.

He lifted his lamp and peered into the darkness. A hooded figure, almost beyond the reach of the light, her leg ready to give the pile of firewood another kick.

"Hey, don't do that," he said when he reached her side.

"Why? Family of yours?" she snorted and gave the firewood another kick. Her hood fell off, revealing her face. She did not even bother to hide her verdigris.

He had to laugh at the petulant expression on her face. "Did the firewood somehow offend you?"

"Bastards," she said and attempted to kick the logs again, but Fiyero stood between her and defenceless objects.

"I'm sure the trees know who their parents are. The only bastard here is me, so are you going to kick me?" He had no idea what made him offer that information.

That stopped her, and she looked up at him, her eyes wide. The glow from his lamp lit up her face. She had pretty eyes. Steel, but still pretty.

"So who offended you?"

She answered his question with another question. "What did you see?"

He tried to keep his tone light.

"I see you not giving a thought to your poor foot. You're going to be in a lot of pain tomorrow."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"What did you see? Hideous green witch? Moulting skin? Three eyes? Five hundred year-old witch?"

Fiyero cocked his head and looked at her.

"I see a pretty girl not sparing a thought to her poor foot." And he realised that he was right. She might not be beautiful like Jeni with her smooth, heart shape face and big eyes, but there was something attractive about her green face and brown eyes and a fierceness that he had not seen in any other girl.

"So you think I am beautiful?"

"I said that you are pretty," he corrected her.

Just then, the front door opened and light streamed out. The noise from the inn drifted out, just bits and pieces, but enough for Fiyero to know that the men inside had not changed their topic. She stiffened at the words, her hand reaching for her sword.

He grabbed her by her shoulders before she took another step.

"Don't!"

"I'll kill them," she spoke through clenched teeth, but he blocked her way.

"Come on, be magnanimous. They're just a bunch of drunks with empty words. And they don't know that you're here."

She pushed him away, venting her anger on him instead.

"So it's alright if I am not here?"

"Come on, you know you'll have the last laugh. Just go back and cuddle up to your man and ask him for a kiss."

She glared at him.

Oh. He should not have assumed.

"Well, then just go and find a man and ask him to kiss you," he made a suggestion.

"Then kiss me." She stood up to him and lifted her chin, as though she was spoiling for a fight.

Now he was surprised. "What?" He did not really mean what he said, and he did not mean _him_.

"Kiss. Me."

"What? Is there how you talk to your men? Do this. Do that. No please and thank you?"

"Excuses now? To a five hundred year-old witch?" She growled. "Oh for Lurline's sake. Forget it." She turned to leave, but Fiyero reached out a hand and grabbed her.

"Alright, I'll kiss you."

"Good," she said, as if she had just sealed a business deal. She squared her shoulders, folded her arms and squeezed her eyes shut. It was only after a while that Fiyero realised that she expected him to kiss her when she was standing _like that_.

He counted to twenty before she opened an eye. "Is it over?" she asked, her voice almost timid. For a moment, Fiyero could almost forget that she was the notorious Green Witch.

He could not help but chuckle. "Oz, you looked like someone whose head is on the guillotine."

She shot daggers at him with her eyes.

"A kiss is not a death sentence," he said as he took a step toward her. He cupped her cheek, and she tensed.

"Relax," he told her but it only made her tenser. He lowered his voice. "Give me your hand," he coaxed. She raised a hand, her fingers curled as if he was about to dip it into a bowl of maggots. He placed it lightly on his shoulder. "It helps to close your eyes." She squeezed her eyes shut. He chuckled again. "Not that tight. Close your eyes gently, just like when you are going to bed. Take a deep breath. Breathe in, breathe out. That's good." He stroked her cheek gently with his thumb, noting when some of the tension had gone out of her. "Trust me, you have the best kisser in this region with you. You're in good hands," he said.

"Oh sure," she muttered, but before the last syllabus left her mouth, he brushed his lips gently against hers.

She trembled, ever so slightly, and Fiyero stroked her cheek with his thumb again. He kissed her lightly this time. Her lips were surprisingly soft, definitely kissable. He had only intended it to be one kiss, but there was something about her, something about this girl who had not a single flirting bone in her body but instead demanded a kiss that was oh so appealing. His hand moved to the back of her neck as the other hand slipped to her waist. His fingers dug into the chignon at the nape of her neck and expertly released her hair, letting it fell over his hand as he continued to kiss her. He parted her lips with his, gently probing, lest she decided to bite off his tongue, but she was surprisingly yielding. He deepened the kiss, and heard that little sound of surprise when he did so and her hand fisted his shirt. His hand moved up and brushed the side of her breast before it slid to her back.

Fiyero was no stranger to muscles on a woman. After all, all the women that he had met had to work for a living and did their own chores. She was all lean and sinewy, but there was something exciting about her. He pushed her to the wall, going for her neck as he grabbed her hip. The idea of her strong legs wrapped around him drove all other thoughts from his mind, and he found himself grinding his hips against hers, his throat emitting a low groan.

Things might have heated up further if he had not felt the sharp point against his side.

"What the – " He jumped apart, his hands raised in surrender. He shook his head frantically to clear his mind.

"I told you to kiss me, not grope me!" she hissed, waving a little dagger dangerously at him and he had to jump back again.

"For Oz's sake. If a man just pecks his lips to yours, then there must be something wrong with him. Kissing is more than that. It's lips and tongue and teeth," she winced at that word, "and touches. Don't tell me I am the only man who has touched you like this."

"Not the first one," she admitted. "The second." There was something in her voice that piqued his curiosity and he probed further.

"So what happen to the first man?"

She shrugged. "Oh, he's still alive, don't you worry. And most probably he's still living in Nest Hardings." The confusion on his face told her that he had never heard of the name. "It's in the east of Munchkinland. You can go and look for him if you want. You can't miss him. He's the one with no hands."

Fiyero wriggled his fingers for reassurance. "Alright, I get your message."

"Keep this to yourself." She brandished the dagger again. He nodded mutely. She looked at him, and for a moment, he did wonder if she would do something more drastic to ensure that no one would ever come to know about this.

She spat on the ground instead and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. "It's overrated by the way," she tossed the words over her shoulder as she exited the alley. Fiyero did not believe a single word she said.

* * *

He did not notice it when she slipped into his workshop. It was late, way past his usual bedtime, and the sounds of the hammering covered up all other sounds. He had wanted to sleep, but he could not, not after his encounter with her in the back alley. He worked on the horseshoes for Malky, the heat from the fire and his rhythmic hammering calming him and driving thoughts of her from his mind.

"Working late?" He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a voice behind him.

"You scared me! Didn't anyone tell you not to scare a man when he is absorbed in his work?"

She cackled, amusement written all over her face. "No one told me that men are so easily spooked, it's almost funny."

He ignored the jab. "So why are you here? I thought you have a room in the inn."

"I'm here to check on Malky," she said. It was almost as if what happened in the back alley, that unintentional lapse that reveal her insecurity, did not happen. "He can never sleep without me."

"Now _that's_ funny," he jabbed at her maliciously. "I swear that he was sleeping soundly when I checked on him just now."

The Green Witch muttered a curse and went into the stall to check on her Horse.

He turned back to his work, his mood lightened.

She returned soon after and sat near to the furnace.

"So are those Malky's new shoes? They're cute!" She stared at the glowing metal, sounding as if he had just shown her a pair of newly knitted booties.

"Yes, an urgent job for a lady on a secret mission," he teased her.

She snorted in a very unladylike way. He laughed.

There had been something that was at the back of his mind since their conversation earlier that day, and he raised the topic.

"I want in," he said.

"In what? The knitting club for old ladies?" She looked at him. She knew.

"I want to join you. Be one of your men. Fight against the Wizard."

"No."

"Why?"

"It's not safe. I have seen enough people die. It's good to be safe. Stay here, do your job, find a girl and get married."

"I don't think I like being married. I like my freedom too much."

"So being killed is your definition of freedom."

"Fighting for a cause. Doing something good in my life. Maybe even the dying part." He knew that he was not putting up a good argument.

"No."

He tried to keep the disappointment from his voice. "Do you always reject guys like this?"

She laughed. "Everyday." She paused. "Actually, I kind of like the idea of keeping you alive, even though you are a terrible kisser," she deadpanned. "Do you even know how to hold a sword?"

"Try me." He thought he sounded more confident that he actually was.

The Green Witch took out her sword and handed it to him, hilt first. The sword was lighter than he expected. He turned it towards the light, and there was a bright shine on the blade, a flash almost emerald in shade that disappeared just as quickly. He put a hand on the blade, unable to hide his surprise.

"It's Kellian steel," he marvelled. Fiyero had never seen Kellian steel before, but he had heard of the story from his grandfather, of how a group of travellers had discovered rare deposits of metal in the Lesser Kells, and with the most intensive of the forging methods, managed to produce weapons that could be honed to a sharp, resilient edge and were virtually indestructible. The travellers were subsequently killed in an unfortunate accident, and no one was able to find the location of the deposits again.

The pride on her face was unmistakable.

"I see that you know your metal," she said.

"Where did you get this? Is it a family heirloom?" he asked, curious. Many of the weapons created with the steel were lost, or kept in private collection and kept out of sight. He doubt that anyone with one of these weapons would sell it, even if offered a mountain of gold.

She shrugged, and picked up a pair of pliers from among his tools. "Maybe I took it off a dead body. Ready?"

Fiyero gripped the sword with both hands, adopting what he hoped was a warrior stance. The girl smiled as she tested the weight of the pliers on her hand. It took her less than three heartbeats to disarm him. The sword clattered onto the floor.

"You cannot even hold a sword properly," she commented.

"Teach me. I'm a fast learner."

"No, I can't have someone who will endanger the group." She noticed his crestfallen face. "Stay here, keep the folks safe if you want to do something useful. And make horseshoes," she reminded him of his outstanding task.

Fiyero turned back to his work, albeit grumpily.

"Tell me about your grandfather," she said after a while.

"What did you drink back at the inn?" He was surprised.

"The most terrible beer I have drunk in my whole life," she deadpanned.

She spoke again after a while. "Well, it's just that I have not heard anyone talk about anything besides death for a long time," she paused and looked down at her lap. "Oh my, what did the innkeeper put in my drink?"

He laughed. It might not be intentional, but she did know how to cheer someone up in her own way. It worked for him, at least. There was silence for a while longer, and then he started.

"My grandfather is a good man. Solid, dependable. He's Arjiki, and he worked as an apprentice to a blacksmith and fell in love with his master's daughter. He loved his family wholeheartedly. My grandmother died when my mother was quite young. It broke his heart and he never remarried. My mother, she ... well, I guess you could say that she was naive and got pregnant out of wedlock, and… it was a small town, and there was bound to be people who would form their opinions on what kind of woman she was. So my grandfather decided to pack up and go. He and my mom left Vinkus and all the gossips behind. My grandfather is the most patient man in the world, even more patient than many women I know. He said that he needed patience to do his job well. You know, all the time standing in front of furnace and all the hammering and dipping. And then my mom died giving birth to me. I think it broke his heart the second time round. I heard that a few families offered to take me in, but he chose to bring me up single-handedly. He is my grandfather, my father, my brother, my friend. He taught me all that I know. How to read, how to fish, this," he indicated his work.

He had not expected it, but he felt his eyes smarting.

"You miss him," she said. He sniffed, but did not say anything.

"How's growing up in a small town like?" She changed the topic, and he welcomed it.

He told her about growing up in a small town. Playing in the mud with the other children, his first fishing trip with his grandfather. He talked about climbing trees, staying overnight in the nearby forest on a dare. He took a sidelong glance at her. Her head was resting against the pillar at the back, her eyes slightly closed. A little smile on her face, as if she was enjoying his stories. It spurred him on to think of more stories about his childhood. Getting drunk for the first time. His first job. His first kiss. She gave a sleepy chuckle. He was wondering if he should mentioned Jeni when something made him turn around. The Green Witch's eyes were closed, her head leaning against the pillar. Seemed like the Horse was not the only one who could not sleep without company.

He continued to work on the horseshoes a while longer, thinking that perhaps she would wake up later. But she was still asleep by the time he called it a night.

His workshop was open, and the room would get colder as the night passed. He thought of waking her up, but decided against it. He could carry her to his bed so that she could have a comfortable sleep, but decided against it the moment the idea came to his mind. He could not see the little dagger, but her sword was with her.

He did not want to be known as Fiyero No Hands.

Instead, the Arjiki added more firewood to his furnace, making sure that it would last the whole night. He then brought up a chair and sat facing her. He looked at the sleeping figure as he made himself comfortable. She had let her hair down, and it rested on her shoulders and down to her waist. It framed her face, adding an innocence that was not seen when she was awake. Fiyero was reminded of the moments they spent in the alley, when the darkness brought out the vulnerability that she did not want anyone to see. He fell asleep with a smile on his face.

He woke up a few hours later, roused from a dream about burning furnace and Kellian steel. He sat up. The other chair was empty. He took a quick glance at the stall at the side. Malky was still there, asleep. She could not have left without him. He stood up, and it was only then that he realised that his blanket was draped over him. He did not remember taking it out last night.

He went to the front of the workshop and saw her kneeling on the ground. The rain had started again, and there were puddles everywhere. She was looking at one, her face intent, her green hand hovered over the water, fingers splayed. There was a whisper, one that he felt rather than heard. The water should be dark, the colour of the mud underneath. It should reflect her green face, if anything. Instead, it turned white, solidified into ice. Within the ice, a dim glow started from the centre and spread to the sides.

Fiyero stood there, transfixed, as the light brightened. The ice seemed to hollow out, as if a portal had opened up beneath the witch's fingers, showing burning flames of purgatory.

The flames reflected across her face, with shadows of people moving, fighting. The girl kept her eyes on the ice, watching the scene as it played itself out.

The light slowly dimmed and went out. Her fingers relaxed.

She looked up, noticing him for the first time. As she stood up, the ice next to her melted away in the rain.

She looked at him as she slowly walked toward him, her head tilted slightly. There was an odd intensity in her glance, something that he did not expect. It was as if she was seeing him in a whole new light.

"So, Fiyero of the Fire." She lifted his chin, as if assessing a formidable opponent, or a puzzle to be solved. "What a surprise."

He did not know what she meant.

She dropped her hand and turned away, running her fingers on his unfinished work.

"How long will it take for you to finish this?" she asked over her shoulder. Her voice was still soft, dangerous, and suddenly Fiyero had a glimpse of the witch that the Wizard was so afraid of.

"Today?" he squeaked.

"Where's the nearest place where I can get a horse? A good horse, not one that will die one day after I buy it."

"There's a pretty good man I know, but he lives a few days' ride from here." He had no idea where this conversation was leading to. Behind him, he heard Malky grunt. He spun around. The Horse was by the door, and it seemed that he was listening to their conversation with interest.

"You're not going to abandon Malky, are you?" he asked.

She shook her head and chuckled, and that young woman was back.

"My people are not so near, and while the idea of you walking for two months is mildly entertaining, I don't have time to waste. And Lurline forbids if you think that I am going to share Malky with you."

She looked at him, his jaw dropped when he finally understood what she mean.

"Yes, you're coming with me. I am not going to deprive you of the chance to feel _excruciating_ pain in your ass," she replied with a smirk.

 **AN And so Fieryo (oops, Fiyero) started on his new life.**

 **AN there is a darker version in the same AU setting that is still in progress (afterall, GoT is not a comedy). I will complete it before I decide if I will post it.**


End file.
